Without a Script
by A.D. Chandler
Summary: A fight for survival in a world where time is precious. One year to live, love and learn before the virus takes hold.


Disclaimer: I don't own RENT- sadly. I just get to torture these lovely characters created by the late Jonathan Larson. Merci, monsieur!  
-

"December twenty-third, 1989. Christmas eve eve at the loft here in alphabet city. It appears to be starting to snow, fortunately for most of the population of New York. Unfortunately of course for us, as snow means cold. And cold is generally not welcomed here. Now as we pan left we see the moping figure of Roger Davis sprawled out on the couch with his beloved Fender. Tell us Roger, how does it feel to be a social recluse?"

"Shut it off Mark." 26 year old Mark Cohen laughed lightly and aimed his beaten up camera at himself.

"Clearly our resident Drama Queen isn't liking the lime light so much." He commented brightly.

"Cohen, I'm serious!" Cried the room's other occupant, Roger. In an effort to get his friend to shut off his machine he snatched one of the warn pillows off the floor and threw it as hard as he could towards the blonde's head. It hit square on, nearly knocking the man's glasses off his head. "Bulls-eye."

"Watch it! You could have broken something!" Mark whined. But his voice was drowned out by a round of chuckles from Roger.

"Relax Mark. I wasn't aiming to brake anything." He said simply, pulling himself into a sitting position before placing his guitar on the table. Mark stood up and placed his camera on the desk beside the answering machine and glanced at Roger.

"That's what you said last time. And then my glasses broke." He dryly replied. Roger shrugged and pulled his sweater around him tighter.

"Well that was an accident."

"It's always an accident." Mark supplied. Roger snorted.

"It's always fun and games 'till someone losses an eye- then it's hilarious." He said. The two laughed.

"Too right. Anyways, I'm going down to the store to get new batteries for my camera. Coming?" Mark grabbed his coat and scarf from the door and wrapped them around himself protectively. He watched in hope as Roger rose from the couch; only to move towards his bedroom.

"Nope. A Drama Queen's gotta get her beauty sleep."

Mark rolled his eyes as the door closed with a snap. Well, at least he'd tried. But sometimes things would never change. Double checking his pocket for his key he smiled and exited the loft. Having your key on you at all times was quite important. A lost key meant calling up for someone to through you down their key. Normally this was not a problem, except that the only one in the loft was Roger. Roger- sleeping. And Mark knew very well that once asleep it was quite hard to wake the sleeping beauty.

-

Light... lots of light. Too much really.

Roger groaned and attempted to block out reality with his hand. Dreamland was always much better than real life. Life meant recalling memories- memories that were to hard to deal with. Rolling over onto his stomach he flung his arms out before him. Bluish veins covered with purple scars. Life's little reminders of the screwed up lifestyle he once lived.

To sex, drugs and rock n' roll. Everything parents always warned their kids of. The badass lifestyle that had stole every ounce of dignity and self worth from him. To rock n' roll that started everything. To sex, that landed him with a disease that was eating him from the inside out. To drugs, that killed the only person he ever loved.

"April." He whispered, screwing his eyes shut. Breathing deeply he opened them and rolled off the bed carefully. These days it seemed like every second was a struggle. It wasn't nearly hard as life had been after April... Or going through withdraw. But it was still hard.

It was hard to believe that the events of hell on earth had been a few months ago. Close to a year. Things had changed though. Yes, they had changed. Roger wasn't a drug-addicted punk, getting high and hurting his friends. Before that day in February he had no thoughts of quitting. Life was good riding on the edge. It helped to block out the pain and constant suffering.

It wasn't until April had learned that she had contracted HIV through an infected needle that he began to worry. When HIV turned into full blown AIDS and she took her life... he realized that it was time to cut it out. For good.

Going clean wasn't the easiest thing he'd done in his life. But with people like Mark, Collins and Maureen he had made it through.

And now? Life was painful living without April- but it was also painful living with the thought that the clock was ticking and every second wasted brought him closer to death.

The truth was, Roger Davis was slowly dying from HIV, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. 26 years of talent and misery gone down the drain because of a few stupid decisions.

-

"Ah, so sleeping beauty wakes at last!" Mark joked, watching Roger exit through his bedroom door.

"Laugh all you want. I think I'd rather be sleeping beauty than the wicked witch anyways." He said, pointedly looking at his friend. Mark rolled his eyes before returning to the script lying across the table. Roger moved over to the 'kitchen' to poor him and his roommate a cup of coffee. Nothing started the morning better than a good cuppa joe.

"Still working on your documentary?" Roger queried. Mark snorted.

"You mean still working on the script. I can't actually start filming until I have this stupid script finished." He replied. Roger passed him a cup and sat down on the chair beside the couch.

"Why don't you just shoot without a script?" He suggested. Mark looked up at him as though he was crazy.

"I can't just shoot without a script!"

Roger shrugged. "Why not? Wouldn't it be easier? Plus, isn't that the whole point of a documentary? To document _real life_? It's not real life if you have a script."

Mark had to admit, he did have a point there. But doing anything without a script would be completely absurd.

"You can't just freestyle it like you do with music Roger. You have to at least have a basis."

"I bet you could if you tried. A documentary based on real things is one thing. Spontaniality, my friend, is something completely different." Roger supplied.

"Oh and you would know." Mark retorted dryly.

"Actually, I would. You're talking to the King of Improvisation!" Roger shot back smugly. Mark laughed and began to gather up the sheets of paper.

"Ah yes, how could I forget. Funny how the captain of the Scarsdale High improv team would end up on stage rocking the crowds with his latest rock songs." He said. Roger rolled his eyes and smiled.

"As much as I loved acting, it's just not my _thing_. But I can't deny the crowd. Give 'em what they want. And if what they want is my music- I'll perform." He replied. Mark sipped his coffee and laughed.

"No, we leave the acting to Maureen. You never were a great actor. You're a horrible liar." He commented. Roger put a hand to his chest in mock pain.

"At least I tried." He said. It was Mark's turn to roll his eyes.

"To what? Act or lie." He asked.

"Both." Roger admitted.

Mark chugged down the rest of his drink and grabbed his camera and jacket. "Anyways, I'm going out for a bit. As much as I love this place it's not where I'd want to spend the day. Unlike _some _people."

"Hey, don't look at me. It's cold out there!" Roger cried in defense.

"Excuses, excuses. What do you do all day in here anyways?"

Roger grinned. "Sleep." Mark sighed.

"You need a hobby. And no- sleeping does _not_ count. Why don't you take up photography or something." He suggested. Roger eyed him.

"Why don't I? Easy answer: I'm not a nerd who hides behind a lense all day. I like to experience my life instead of someone else's." He said wisely. Mark raised an eyebrow.

"Experience life? Yeah right. That's pretty funny coming from a guy who hides in a messy room on the fourth floor of a run down building. At least I go outside." Roger folded his arms across his chest.

"I go outside. And I don't hide. Musicians don't hide. I just choose to spend my days inside right now because a, it's cold out there, and b, I have no reason to go out there. Now why don't you go out and play with your camera." Mark snorted.

"Whatever." Pulling the door shut behind him he sighed deeply.

Since his battle with withdraw, Roger hadn't left the loft. Whether it was because of his depression over the loss of April or because of his fear to live life, Mark wasn't sure. But he knew deep down that both of these possiblities weren't the real answer. And deep down, Mark knew that he'd never learn the answer.


End file.
